Don’t ask me, I just live here.
I saw “my” doctor recently. In person visits are rare now; who knew you could diagnose a sinus infection over the phone?
But there I was, feet dangling off the exam table- no that’s a lie, I was sitting on a chair but that’s a boring visual-
There I was, sitting in a plastic fraying chair, heart racing because I almost almost almost grabbed a bunch of blank pre-signed LifeLab requisition forms- a very noble crime if you ask me- but I didn’t. But my body thought I did because I really visualized the whole thing — I’d grab four, thumb my way thru the tops of the prints, fold them three-ways and- anyway my heart was racing and I was riding that pre-guilt wave.
She walks in, looking tired as usual, and proceeds to instantly ask me if we should take my blood pressure. Like it’s a group activity. Um, sure? Why not?
She proceeds to routinely relieve my arm of all blood, and for the first time, once that sweet relief of venous flow returned, I asked her what my numbers were. She was taken a back and had to think- she JUST took it- and told me, an on-the-lower-end normal. But like- bitch, did you actually read the results? You concern me, on so many levels. Are we just going thru the motions here? Why the fuck didn’t I take just ONE LifeLab form?
She asks what brings me in and I tell her- I have rehearsed this retelling of my symptoms, for I know how this works. I have a short window with this sought after, credentialed woman — and I will make sure she knows every detail and has limited questions. I’m just praying she actually wants follow up with her hands instead of her mouth. A Canadian doctor, touching me, palpating for tactile information ? What is it, my birthday?
“I’ve been having visceral, very unique morning lower abdominal cramping when I wake up on my back. As soon as I get out of the supine position, it resolves a bit- it’s been happing for about 8 months now, not connected to cycles or constipation- I evacuate my bowels to a satisfying sense of emptying at least twice a day and I have had severe period cramps my whole lady life- these are not the same. It feels slightly more to my right but mostly it feels down, in between my sacrum and uterus. I ignored it at first, but now it seems to not be going away, not getting worse, not getting better. We’re trying to conceive as well, so I want to rule out anything serious going on in that department.”
And she says- and I quote-
“WOULD YOU LIKE A SAMPLE OF TYLENOL?”
My doctor means well. I think. I don’t dislike her.
But I was floored by this pharmaceutical response- more of a reaction, really-
Maybe I overwhelmed her with my use of medical works like supine and sacrum. Dumb it down, Nat, geez. You’re threatening her. Stop posturing your anatomy knowledge and grovel!
MAYBE SHE’LL LEAVE TO PEE AND THEN THOSE BLOODWORK REQS WILL JUST KINDA FALL INTO MY PURSE….
“No, thanks…I’m good. This doesn’t feel like a condition that pain killers would really help.”
I know you’re wondering. Did she touch me?
Did she place her learned hands on my areas of concern, check for any hard masses, any red flags, any particular pain?
….did I commit a felony in the doctors office that day?
No way hose.
Show me on the doll where you wanted her to touch you…
It took weeks but she eventually gave me req for an X ray, after advising that I start routinely using laxatives and enemas. “My” naturopath even suggesting trying coffee flavoured!
But this isn’t…I …go…regularly…I promise?…
This post wasn’t meant to be this level of medical disclosure. But hey- maybe you know whats wrong with me!
At the very least, you’ll offer me acetaminophen, right?
Doctors are their own pill to swallow, amiright.
It’s easy to fantasize about other countries health care systems. Without doing any last minute Brave browsing here, I roughly know that America’s is likely higher quality in terms of equipment and wait times BUT that’s only if you have the money/insurance/job security to fund this. I imagine the welfare health care (wealthfare?) is on-par with us? I can’t imagine needing to decide between paying bills or giving that darn broken collar bone some medical attention.
And then there’s Australia which, from what I understand, is a neat little blend. You can do the socialist I mean universal I mean Canadian way , but if you need a rush job, say, a pesky little tumour taken care of sooner than a northern ASAP, you can pay out of pocket for it. I dunno, like I said, I’m not doing any research. Comment any corrections! Hahaha jk I know it’s just you- hi Tom.
My husband has been dealing with a very simple (albeit deep) plantars wart and it’s almost been a year and he’s just started to receive the basic treatment he needs — but lucky for him, there was also an optional and FREE crackpipe and/or syringe kit as a thank you from our publicly funded health system. I keep telling him to take the cart home and he keeps ignoring me.
When my sister took her new born daughter into see the doctor, the first question asked was “is he circumsized?”
You have to laugh otherwise we won’t stop crying.
Is this a classic grass-is-green, doctors-are-better scenario?
As the news becomes more bloated and the world feels so much heavier (is this the case or is this just growing up?) it’s very easy to romanticize that leaving this country and setting up shop in a new one- it should solve everything. When I zoom into the practicality of the paperwork, the learning curve, the finding a new social group — that one guts me — I’m not too inspired to leave. Whose gonna take my blood pressure with their eyes closed?
It doesn’t help (or does it help?) that my husband and I are renters. Consciously or not, we have that sweet sweet renters mentality.
“We’re just passing through.”
“We don’t ACTUALLY live here.”
“When are we leaving?”
“One day our lives will start.”
This particular city attracts such mentalities…
But hey wait a minute- I’ve lived here- in the same house- for like- 13 years. Why is my existence here less valid? Acknowledged, even by ME- than someone who is paying a bank back for a really big loan and doesn’t need permission to paint the walls?
I’ve had a nice progressive revelation if you will: owning does not equate belonging.
We belong here; life doesn’t start once we tick the boxes; life started X years ago and it hasn’t stopped.
“You laugh until you cry, you cry until you laugh, and everyone must breathe until their dying breathe”
-Regina Spektor
This is where you are. Right here is always where you are.
In contrast to this enlightenment, I am realizing just how many small, subtle ways I was distancing & othering myself from situations like local politics, town hall meetings, dog park expansions.
I officially reject moving forward in a classic renters mindset; mentally removed from municipal outcomes and treating the city like a big waiting room. No more! It feels reminiscent of my [former?] view of the whole wide world; just a waiting room for heaven. That’s a whole separate post…
I’m looking at finding ways to dig both heels in without literally buying into it. Did you know the community center up the street offers really affordable dance classes that I only just yesterday looked into?
Or that the CRC 30 seconds around the corner is full of people who already feel like family? And I only braved the doorstep a month ago?
What am I , finally unpacking my bags?
Our health care is a joke with a low-fi laugh track; our politics- nope, not touching that. Sometimes the direction of this province feels like a big build up to an overdosed punchline.
But this is the country we were born in, this is the city we’ve chosen. I’d rather be part of creative solutions than jump ship. I’m not a good swimmer. Plus I’m overall pretty lazy.
We’re here. And I’m all the way in.
For now!
